Living past the bombings

Friday

Apr 18, 2014 at 12:14 AMApr 18, 2014 at 12:21 AM

By Lenny Megliola

(Editor's note: This story ran in the first edition of the Red Sox Magazine earlier this month and is reprinted here with their permission.)They are forever seen as one now, those who survived and those who didn’t, the inconsolable families, the first responders, the medics, the cops, linked to the bloody, suddenly limbless bodies, to the obscene carnage on what had been an intoxicating spring day in Boston suddenly blurred by smoke and fire and confusion and, yes, the sound of bombs. Really, bombs, at the end of the Boston Marathon.In a flash the grueling race meant nothing. The real test would come after the toll was measured, a test for the hearts and minds and souls of all the people. Boston Strong, someone said. Yes, that’s what was needed now. And that’s what came.THE RESCUERCarlos Arredondo was no stranger to ceaseless heartache. He’d lost a son Alex, a 20-year-old Marine, on the Iraq front in 2004. In 2011 his other son, Brian, committed suicide. He was 24. Brian idolized his brother.“When he lost Alex he lost his dreams,” said Arredondo, 53, who came to America from Costa Rica in 1980.A National Guard member was running last year’s Boston Marathon to honor Alex. Arredondo and his wife, Melida, sat with a group of military people. “We go to events like the Marathon because it makes us feel better,” said Melida.“It was a brilliant day,” said Carlos. “There were Red Sox shirts everywhere.”The Red Sox were playing the Tampa Bay Rays at Fenway Park, just a strong Shane Victorino throw away from the finish line. Then the first bomb went off, and in an instant Arredondo jumped a Boylston Street barrier and disappeared from Melida’s view.Wearing a cowboy hat and waving an American flag, he ran crazily. A second bomb went off. “Like a ball of fire, a cloud of smoke,” he said. “Everybody was running, trying to figure out what to do next. Some ran away, some stayed behind.”Arredondo was looking for someone to help. After the second bomb went off, “there was no time to waste.” He jumped another barrier on the other side of Boylston.By the time he got to Jeff Bauman, “you could smell the blood,” said Arredondo. “I saw Jeff holding his legs. There was nobody there for him. He was very aware of his surroundings.” It was Hell. “I tried to make him stay still. I said ‘don’t move!’ A medical person came along. We made tourniquets. It was time to move Jeff.”A young woman from the medical corps helped Arredondo lift Bauman into a wheelchair. “I told the lady ‘let’s work quick!’ We started pushing Jeff down the street.”One of the tourniquets got caught in a wheel. “I ripped it off and re-tied it.” His hands, his clothes, his shoes were covered with blood.They got Bauman to the medical tent. Arredondo was asked if he knew the victim’s name. Because of Arredondo’s accent Bauman wasn’t sure if the medical people were taking his name down correctly. Bauman proceeded to spell it out himself.“That’s when I knew he was going to make it,” said Arredondo, 53.A week later, after Bauman’s legs had been amputated, they met again. “I was so happy to meet his family, friends and girlfriend,” said Arredondo. “He was smiling, happy to be alive.”The sons the Arredondos lost (they were Melida’s stepsons) were baseball fans.“They loved the Red Sox,” said Melida, 48. In the aftermath of the April 15 tragedy, Red Sox management stepped up all season long honoring the bombing victims. Fenway Park became a pilgrimage for survivors and families.“It was amazing to see the Red Sox trying to make things better for the victims and survivors,” said Arredondo. “They brought the families together to heal.”Arredondo and Bauman tossed ceremonial first pitches on the same night. “Jeff threw to (Jarrod) Saltalamachia. Jeff will never forget that. I threw to Big Papi, my favorite player. That was important because we’re Latinos.”Melida said “we got Red Sox jerseys with our names on them. That was pretty special. The team saved the best for last. “The Red Sox winning the World Series meant a lot to us,” Melida said.A CLOSE FAMILYThe year before Martin Richard was killed in the Marathon bombings Father Sean Connor of St. Ann’s in Dorchester, administered the boy his first communion. Martin’s parents, Bill and Denise, and their other two children, were steady churchgoers.“They were a very close family, one that would light up a room, always smiling, always friendly,” said Connor.The day of the Marathon Connor had tickets to the Red Sox game but couldn’t go. He was helping his mother move into a nursing home. Meanwhile, he was awaiting surgery in May for a neck injury sustained in an auto accident.Connor was cleaning out his mother’s house when his phone rang. It was from police dispatch. An ex-cop, Connor was being called to respond to the bombing scenes. “I sped up the highway,” he says, surprised he didn’t get stopped for exceeding the speed limit.He went to the various hospitals where the injured were being taken. “I saw the horror that was unfolding.”Later that afternoon, he learned that Denise Richard and her daughter, Jane, had been injured. Denise had facial and eye injuries, Jane, who turned 8 on Valentine’s Day and sang in the church’s children’s choir, lost a leg. Bill’s eardrum was punctured.Then came the crushing news that Martin hadn’t survived.“It was a horrific night for the family, the horror they endured,” said Connor, who stayed with the Richards throughout the ordeal. The Richards’ oldest child, Henry, 11, wasn’t injured during the bombings and remains “a great big brother,” said Connor.Martin had been a huge Red Sox fan. He’d wear his Dustin Pedroia shirt to school. When the Richard family was invited to Fenway Park prior to the ALCS game against the Tigers, young Jane stepped to the microphone and led the St. Ann’s children’s choir in the national anthem. “It was a beautiful moment,” said Connor. “We were all crying on the first base line.”That night, David Ortiz blasted a grand slam that many say catapulted the Red Sox to the World Series win. “It was a moment meant to be,” said Connor. The Red Sox put up the Richard family and friends, about 20 in all, in a private suite that night.“I think this Red Sox ownership has taken giving back (to the community) to a new level,” said Connor. “They have a humane desire to comfort and heal.”LADY IN HIGH HEELSHeather Abbott lost her left leg in the marathon bombings. After three surgeries, amputation and weeks in the hospital, the rehab began. When the Red Sox asked her if she’d be interested in throwing out a first pitch on Rhode Island Day --- she’s from Newport --- Abbott made two decisions. Yes, she would do it, and no, she would not return to the rehab center.“I was really excited about throwing out the first pitch.”If she could pull it off, then she was finished with rehab. She made that a mindset. Her concern was how she’d present herself at Fenway. Would she approach the mound on crutches (she would later be fitted for a prosthetic leg) or come out in a wheelchair. She decided to walk out with the aid of her physical therapist who held one of her crutches while Abbott leaned on the other and threw with her right hand.“It was absolutely amazing, very emotional,” said Abbott. “A great sense of accomplishment. I’m not a very good pitcher, but that was really a great day.”All day long Red Sox personnel “got me from point A to point B to Point C,” said Abbott, 38. “They were very accommodating.”It wouldn’t be the last time she’d get invited back to the famed ballpark.“I was out there during the World Series when James Taylor sang (the anthem).” On another occasion she was escorted to the field by former New England Patriots Matt Chatham and Joe Andruzzi who were at the scene when Abbott was injured.Abbott and several friends were at the Red Sox game the morning of the bombings and wanted to catch the end of the Marathon. They were waiting to get into Forum, a bar on Boylston Street, when the second bomb went off, the power of it thrusting Abbott through the door.“There was smoke, glass and blood everywhere. I was in tremendous pain,” said Abbott. Lying on the floor, she couldn’t bring herself to look at her leg.“I started to call for help.” Erin Chatham, Matt’s wife, tried to help her. She couldn’t move Abbott alone. She called Matt, who helped get her out of the bar and to a medical station. When they got Abbott to Brigham’s and Women’s Hospital she was immediately taken into emergency surgery. Her leg couldn’t be saved. Ultimately, she made the decision to have it amputated below the knee.In June she began testing prosthetic legs. She knew it would take a tremendous adjustment. “The first time it felt like I was walking on a stilt. It took me some time to get used to what a new foot felt like, and to trust it. Now I wear it all day until I take it off at night. It’s pretty normal to me now.”Abbott, a runner, has four prosthetics for different activities, including one for dressing up for special occasions. People can’t tell it’s not a real leg. She’s been in demand for speaking engagements for which she wears “my high-heel” leg. After addressing a group in Florida --- she gives inspirational talks --- several members told her they couldn’t tell she was wearing a prosthetic.Abbott, a human resources manager, has returned to work part-time.Throughout her ordeal, Abbott said “I’ve learned I was more resilient than I thought I was. I want to be a more passionate person.” Much of that passion is for the disabled.Abbott continually reminds herself, and everyone else that “it’s a waste of time to ask ‘why me?’”AND STRONGER STILLJeff Bauman really didn’t want to do the book. A lot of pursuers lined up to write his story after he lost both legs in the Boston Marathon bombings. “I thought it was too soon. I wanted to focus on my recovery. There was some tough stuff to tell. What should I put in the book, and not put in.” He talked it over with family members and his fiancée.Bret Witter, a writer from the south, convinced Bauman to tell his story, to do the book. Bauman liked Witter’s approach. “It was going to be non-stressful for me” to be involved.Witter settled in a hotel close to Bauman’s Chelmsford home. “He stayed about two weeks, then moved back to Atlanta. We stayed in touch.” The book got done. The title is “Stronger,” which just came out.“It’s pretty in-depth and personal,” said Bauman. He made sure his family was OK with it before “getting on board” with the project.There are photos in the book. One is hard for Bauman to look it, a photo that went viral.“It’s the one with Carlos pushing me in the wheelchair,” said Bauman. “I don’t like that one.” It’s too vivid of a reminder, too close to the moment of the explosions. Finally Bauman relented. The photo stayed in the book.The rehabilitation is grueling and ongoing for Bauman. When he doesn’t feel up to it, “someone’s in my ear. My mom, dad, fiancé, the physical therapists at Spaulding, even my dog, Bandit. He’s a rescue dog. A mutt. I constantly have to play with him. It gets me moving around.”“The book starts at the bombings, but it flashes back to a year before when I was just a normal 26-year-old with a job (at Costco), liked to hang out with friends and liked to watch and play sports” said Bauman.Carlos Arredondo’s role in Bauman’s story is immovable. They have become friends.“He’s a really caring person; he cares about everybody,” said Bauman. “He’s an amazing guy.”When the Red Sox invited Bauman to throw out a first pitch last June, he said “I’ll do it if Carlos does it with me.”Carlos couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough.Bauman took the Fenway Park assignment seriously. He measured off sixty-feet, six inches in his backyard, the distance from the mound to home plate, and practiced throwing.“I didn’t want to bounce the ball in front of the catcher.”The Red Sox asked him which player he’d like to meet most that night. Pedro Martinez. It was arranged.The 37,000 fans exploded when Bauman, in his wheelchair pushed by Arredondo, got to the front of the mound. “I chose (catcher Jarrod) Saltalamacchia to throw the pitch to,” said Bauman. “He framed it. I knew he’d make me look good.”The healing, the rehab, body and mind, continues. For all that’s happened, Bauman feels he’s in a good place. His support system is tireless. “I try to stay busy,” Bauman said. “I have my life laid out in front of me.”He and Erin Hurley are expecting a child this summer. They will marry next summer.“I enjoy everything that comes into my life now,” said Jeff Bauman, strong words, strong young man, rising from the flames of April 15, 2013.A tragedy, a town, a team. We look back and it’s as crystal clear now as it was blindingly incomprehensible then. The lives lost, the bodies broken, and put together again, physically and spiritually. So many people cared, taking action that day and still. They haven’t just stayed on the sidelines, wishing it hadn’t happened. They were civilians and first responders, fire and police and medical; they were clergy and hospital staffs that had a slow day turn into the busiest days of their lives. Yes, and they were ballplayers, knocked off their perch of stardom and relearned humility, relearned that courage wasn’t hitting a walkoff.Some suffered the most. But we were all reminded --- every one of us --- how fragile a day, a moment can be. And we learned how not to let it beat us down.(Lenny Megliola can be reached at lennymegs@aol.com)

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